In The Rain
by Cyllwen
Summary: Early in their relationship, Watson goes to work at a clinic.


It was late August in the year 1882, a little over a year after I had meet Sherlock Holmes and moved into the rooms at Baker Street. Cases had been light lately so I had left Holmes to his Somnolence in the company of his more favored companions, cocaine or morphine as the cause may be, and had assisted a friend of mine who worked at a clinic. The fees were minimal; most of the patients were hard pressed to offer up a few shillings in gratitude. However, seeing as my pension would be once again used up by paying both halves of the rent any money I could come across were welcome. It hadn't even occurred to Holmes to ask for a fee at the end of our latest case. I would have to make it a habit to follow up with clients, perhaps come up with some kind of billing system.

The heavy rain and shortage of cabs in my area was making the journey home much more difficult than anticipated. The damp cold of the storm had caused my leg to become almost completely useless. Pain was also prevalent in my shoulder, up into my neck and down into my back. Without my walking stick I would have been unable to walk at all. I was already an hour or so into the journey and had traveled less than half the way to Baker Street. I muttered and swore to myself as I went along.

Injuries, permanent injuries that is, are always frustrating. It wasn't like a cut or a bruise or even a simple break that would bother for some time and then be gone. This ridiculously inhibiting…no _crippling_ injury was here to stay. It was a great sense of irritation for Holmes as well. I had lost count of the times I've been a liability to his cases and to his very well being.

"Doctor? Is that you?" A voice from the shadows startled me out of my brooding. Standing in the shadows of an alley, under the eaves of a building was the figure of a child.

"Seamus? Lad what are you doing out in the rain?" It was one of Wiggin's Irregulars, a lad no more than ten years old. He was one of the few Irregulars I saw on a regular basis, a handsome lad with shocking red hair and deep set green eyes. He was one of my favorites…that is one of the boys that I took an active interest in. He had a soft spot of all creatures and was always bringing me patients that couldn't afford treatment. It was one of the few things I kept from Holmes. My medical practicing seemed to irk him slightly as it took away from the time he could rant and rave to me about a case.

"I could ask you the same guv'ner." The boy was a sight. He was soaked and splattered with mud. He wore only a light jacket to fend away the rain and bitter wind. He sniffled pitifully.

"Come here boy." He obeyed and I moved the umbrella so that it offered both of us some meager protection. "You'll catch your death." I had very little room to talk by the looks of things I had been out far longer than he.

"You don't look so good either." He protested and then frowned. "This is a bad part for a gentleman like you. Are you trying to get coshed?" His young face was entirely too serious.

I gave him an amused smile. He pressed himself close to my good leg in a vague attempt to shield himself from the wind. "I don't have anything on me to steal." It was true. My friend would split the meager earnings of the night and bring it by in the next day or so. I had left my wallet at Baker's Street so I only had a few shillings in my pocket in case I came across a cab. "I was down at the clinic." By the time I finished speaking he had wrapped place himself under the long side of my overcoat. I had to step carefully to avoid stepping on the child. "Now what are you doing out in the rain?"

"Da's come home sloshed. I'm hiding out until he sobers up."

I winced at his blunt honesty and turned the conversation towards happier things. I resolved to take the boy to Baker Street. Holmes would not approve but as long as Seamus remained upstairs with me I saw little harm in it. At this rate Holmes would be in bed long before I returned and he would have no idea the boy was ever there.

"You walk funny." Seamus piped up sometime later when the conversation had lulled. "Not as funny as the Lestrade fellow but funny."

"Old war wound."

"Hasn't it gotten better yet?"

"The femur was shattered by a bullet. It's already gotten as 'better' as it is going to. In fact it's better than they ever anticipated."

"That sounds like it hurt. I broke my arm once." He launched into a story about three watermelons and a shopkeeper. I didn't pay much attention to it. I was much too busy making sure I kept moving in a forward direction. My leg was so stiff now the knee would barely bend; most of my weight was on my cane. Seamus slowed his own pace once he realized my difficulty. His chatter continued as he watched me with concern.

Finally I stopped. "Look lad." I was irritated with myself but knew I had to stop. "Baker's Street isn't far. If you go quickly you can make it in five or so minutes." I handed him the umbrella. "I'm going to rest for a few minutes. When you get there have Mrs. Hudson call a cab. You can send the cab back for me." He looked confused but turned to obey.

"HEY YOU THERE! WHAT YOU DOING WITH MY BOY!"

The loud shout took both of us by surprise. A large man came around the corner, tall and broad, with drunken rage plastered over his face. He was armed with a wicked looking seaman's knife at his belt. He lumbered quickly but unsteadily towards us. Instinctively I pulled Seamus close to me. Quickly I whispered in his ear. "Run and keep running until you get to Baker's Street."

"Da will kill ya!" Seamus hissed vehemently.

"Let that be upon his head. Now run lad." I pushed him hard, propelling him past the man. Then for good measure shouted as loud as I could. "Run!" Thank God he obeyed me.

"SEAMUS WHERE ARE YOU GOING!? YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING…" He turned to pursue the child. I lunged forward and grabbed hold of his arm. I knew that talking to this man would do no good. He was drunk past reason. He attempted to shake me off and when he failed turned all of his focus (what little he possessed) towards me, backhanding me across the face.

Baker's Street – Holmes

I had never before been awoken by a child beating me about the chest in a panic. Seamus, one of Wiggin's group, was sobbing as he attempted to haul me off the couch and into a standing position. I suppose the long stream of sounds coming from his mouth were words but none of them were anywhere near understandable. Taking a second to center myself I grabbed his arms. "Calm down boy. What exactly is so dire?"

He took several deep breaths. "Da's gonna kill him." He managed to gasp out.

Alarm coursed through me as my adrenaline washed away the lingering effects of the morphine I had indulged in earlier. "Kill? Who is going to kill who?"

"Da's drunk. He came to look for me. I was supposed to get him more money for his drinks." The boy was trying very hard but he was winded and half frightened out of his mind.

"That's only one questions answered Seamus. Who is your father going to kill?" I had little patience for this. Someone was in danger.

"He was only trying to protect me. The damp was making it hard for him to walk. He wanted me to come and have Mrs. Hudson call a cab." Seamus prattled on. The stream of information continued but I had my answer. My blood ran cold. There was only one person that both Seamus and I knew that would be walking to Baker's Street and have difficultly to the point of being unable to walk, John Watson.

Watson

We both had handicaps in the fight. He was drunk and unable to see straight or move with any great purpose. I was unable to move around with both my leg and one arm too stiff to be of much use. I leaned against the brick building to give me some support. My walking stick was my only weapon. It was already covered with cuts and scores from where I had used it to block the man's blade. I had gotten in a few blows myself but was hindered by my inability to reach with my weapon. Unfortunately he had landed some blows as well. My overcoat was completely ruined, sliced through at the shoulder, again at my chest and once more across my ribs. They were shallow cuts but they limited what little movement I had left.

Shamus's father was winded. The alcohol was stealing his ability to see this fight through. He still was in better shape than I for he was a man quite used to being drunk. He lunged at me again still breathing heavily just as my good leg gave out. The stress of holding up my entire body weight for so long was just too much. I rolled forward under the swinging blade to lie on my back in the street, losing my stick in the process.

The rain began to come down harder. Thunder shook the ground just as a bright flash blinded me. Lightening had struck a statue on the other side of the street. Seamus' father recovered before I did and lunged in my direction. The wicked blade sank deep into my shoulder, impacting the bone. There was little I could do (to my shame) to keep a loud shout of pain from escaping my lips. Blindly (The rain was making it impossible for me to see) I struck at him, cuffing his ear, but he was not so easy to dislodge. He twisted the knife. I bit my lip, drawing blood. The coppery taste filled my mouth. Thunder rang out through the heavens again. The rain began to feel more like hail against my skin.

When no further attacks came I forced my eyes to focus, quickly blinking to keep the water out of them. My assailant was no longer on top of me. He was face down on the street beside me. Blood trickled down his face. I looked up to see who had come to my aid.

It was Holmes. My flat-mate looked like hell. He wore only his shoes, trousers and a white shirt. His hair was wet and plastered against his forehead. He held my walking stick. Apparently what I had mistaken for thunder had been my cane impacted the other man's skull. It was broken in half. Anger radiated off of him like heat from a bonfire.

There was no helping it. I started to laugh and couldn't stop. I rolled onto my side and curled up. Pain flashed through my shoulder and into my chest and head. It was agony but I still laughed. Holmes face melted into an expression of pure confusion and then into concern. He began to urgently search his pockets.

Seamus sank to his knees beside me. My laughter quieted till it was little more than a weak chuckle. His lips trembled as he gently touched the hilt of his father's knife. The slight touch sent another wave of pain through my body, chocking off my hysterics. I patted his arm with the hand I could move. "That's a good lad."


End file.
